


The things Night Vale does not prepare you for

by CatKing_Catkin



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Blood, Blood and Torture, Crying, Demonic Possession, Established Relationship, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Mild Gore, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Possession, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Sexual Assault, Slash, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:16:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Welcome to Night Vale kink meme, prompt - "Carlos gets mind-controlled by some sadistic evil entity or someone with a grudge against Cecil. This entity piloting his body knocks Cecil out, ties him up, and preforms a variety of unpleasant things to him.</p><p>The thing is, Cecil doesn't know that Carlos isn't in control of his body. He thinks his boyfriend, the wonderful, perfect Carlos, actually hated him enough to do these horrible things to him, hated him enough to dig a knife into his flesh and laugh."</p><p>The torture is hell for Cecil, because he doesn't understand - Carlos loves him, doesn't he? It couldn't have all been a lie, was it? And yet the pain is real, and the words that deny everything and mock him for ever believing are said in Carlos' perfect, beautiful voice. </p><p>The torture is hell for Carlos, because he does love Cecil, and their relationship couldn't have been realer. And yet he can't stop whatever is controlling his body from breaking Cecil utterly with his hands, his voice. The fact that he's conscious for every second of Cecil's pain is almost worse than being helpless to stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The things Night Vale does not prepare you for

This was a nightmare. This was hell.   
  
For Cecil, and for Carlos. Cecil, because he was living it. Carlos, because he couldn't stop it.   
  
One thing Carlos had always trusted that he would be able to control in Night Vale was _himself_ \- his own mind and body. On some level, he'd always known that this was probably a foolish hope that Night Vale would sweep aside in time.   
  
But not like this. Never like this.   
  
_Cecil, I'm so sorry._  
  
But the apology never reached him. Instead, Carlos heard his own voice, twisted with cruelty and a sick, twisted glee. "Did you really think I could love something like you?" He felt his own body pace around Cecil, where he'd been left bound hand and foot and tentacle on the floor, where Carlos had tossed him like so much garbage. Cecil was staring up at him in confusion. Not fear - he couldn't seem to contemplate, even now, that he should be afraid of Carlos. But confusion, and hurt.  
  
"You say that like you don't love me."  
  
 _No no no no no no..._  
  
But, as hard as he begged himself to stop, Carlos saw the knife gleam in the darkness as he raised it and brought it down. It drew a long, black line down the side of Cecil's face, and the radio host let out a startled gasp of pain, flinching away. But there was nowhere for him to run to.   
  
"You're _disgusting_ ," Carlos heard himself say, and he said the words like they were true. His foot lashed out, driving a hard kick into Cecil's chest that left him on his side, curled in on himself and struggling to breathe. "You're good for research material, and the lights above the Arby's were more interesting."  
  
 _That's not true. That was special, Cecil, I felt it just like you did..._  
  
"I've seen what you look like in love. Now I need to see what you look like in fear." He kicked again, and something inside him, something that disgusted Carlos, relished the sound of Cecil's melodic voice in pain. He knelt down beside Cecil, pulling him close in a sick parody of an embrace, brushing the knife ever so lightly over his throat. But it wouldn't be that easy. The thing that was controlling him, whatever it was, didn't want it to be that easy. Instead, he drove it hard into Cecil's shoulder. "For science, of course," he whispered, his voice alight with anticipation and glee.  
  
With an effort that surprised both him and the thing inside him, Cecil managed to wrench out of his grip, in an act that was probably more animal reflex than anything. But it only left him sprawled on the floor, staring up at Carlos, wounded and hurt. "I don't understand," he said, and Carlos could hear the denial in his voice. A part of him rejoiced to hear it, was touched by Cecil's faith in him. Mostly, though, it tore at him, because it meant that Cecil would just be that much slower to fight back, if he even could. "Did I do something? To make you act like this? W-We can talk, I'll be better..."  
  
Carlos saw himself lean down and twist the knife where it was embedded in his shoulder. He heard a scream, and wasn't sure if it was Cecil's or his. "There's nothing for you to fix," the thing controlling him said, bracing one foot on Cecil's body so that he could rip the knife free of his flesh. Just to keep cutting. "Because you were never anything to me." He grabbed Cecil by the front of his shirt, dragging him over, and hit him across the face. "You _repulsive. Inhuman. Monster_."  
  
As he let Cecil slump back to the floor, Carlos saw tears in his boyfriend's eyes.

 _No. No, please, don't do that, Cecil. Hate me! Fight back! Kick, bite, do_ something! _Don't let me do this!_  
  
Which wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, to expect Cecil to save himself, save them both. But Carlos was fighting, really and truly fighting to try and wrench control of his body and voice back, and he could feel himself getting weaker by the second. It was like he'd been locked away in a tiny corner of his mind, and for all his pounding, the door wouldn't budge.  
  
He rolled Cecil over onto his stomach, and dug a knee into his back for support. His other knee pinned down three of Cecil's tentacles where they'd been tied together. They were still squirming weakly, a sign of Cecil's distress and growing fear.  
  
"Did you really think I would ever want _these_ to _touch me?_ " He slashed, and felt the rubbery skin split beneath the blade like a ripe fruit. Black blood bubbled up. He took his time with the next cut, dragging the knife inch by torturous inch, letting the pain linger. Over the sound of flesh tearing, Carlos heard Cecil crying, too breathless with pain to even sob. _I don't mean it, Cecil, I don't, you're beautiful, I love you..._ "This is what we do to monsters outside of this freakish town. We study them, we carve them up, and we put them down! God, you don't even _bleed_ like a real person!" He shifted to Cecil's other side to continue mutilating the other three tentacles. "I'll have to remember to save some your blood...maybe we can at least do something useful with it."  
  
Cecil was fighting, now, struggling weakly to try and throw Carlos off. Forcibly silenced as he was, Carlos nevetheless cheered him on. _Yes, yes! Fight! Don't listen! You're better than this, you don't deserve this..._ But Carlos was bigger, and he felt himself bearing down, heard Cecil wheeze weakly as the breath was pressed out of him. And he took hold of Cecil by the hair and bashed his head against the floor.   
  
_Please, stop_ Carlos tried to beg the thing inside him. The knife flashed, moved by another will in his hand, cutting and slashing around the ropes, each strike falling with a chilling precision and a knowledge that was not his on how to keep Cecil from passing out. _He hates me, he's hurt, you've done enough, you have me..._  
  
He didn't get an answer. There was just the sense of something dark and evil, smothering him still further, and a denial impressed into what remained of his will. But whatever it was, it wanted him to suffer right along with Cecil, suffer in his helplessness. He remained horrifically conscious as he got back to his feet, and brought his foot down hard on Cecil's hand.   
  
"Carlos, p-please. Please, no more, I understand, I won't bother you anymore..."  
  
Cecil was begging, now, and just trying to curl up on the floor as though to present a smaller target. "Not good enough, Cecil," Carlos heard his voice say, cruel and cold. He kept stomping, driving his foot down and digging in his heel, until he heard the bones in Cecil's hand start to give with a sickening crunch. Cecil screamed and sobbed with each blow, and the thing inside Carlos craved to hear more. "An apology isn't good enough. You've had this coming to you for a long time." He gave similar treatment to Cecil's leg, kicking and stomping, something entertaining the idea of going to get a sledgehammer. Mercifully, or maybe not, Cecil's leg broke before he had to.   
  
"Please, stop, please..."  
  
 _Please, stop! Please!_  
  
But their begging fell on deaf ears.

"I'm not just acting for myself, Cecil. I'm here for all the people you've killed. All the interns? They didn't have to die. You sent them to their deaths."  
  
This was almost worse. He knelt down beside Cecil where the other man had curled up, beaten and bloody and broken, shivering with pain and blood loss and cold, sobbing breathlessly and trying to beg Carlos' forgiveness anyway. And then Carlos just talked, his tone of voice almost mild, the cruelty and hate chillingly _casual._   
  
Or...he didn't just talk. He took hold of Cecil's hair and tipped his head back. Rather than drawing the knife across his throat and _ending it_ , however, his torturer took the knife to his hair instead. And he _talked_ , as calmly as if they were discussing the weather, while he hacked off Cecil's hair.  
  
"All the people who die here? You could save them. If you didn't just _sit_ in front of microphone and _talk._ This place doesn't have to be the hellhole it is. You let it. It's about time you paid for that. This? This is for Telly."  
  
"I'm sorry..." Cecil whispered, nearly choking on his pain. "I'm sorry, you're right..." There was an almost feverish cast to his normally beautiful voice. Carlos wasn't sure if he was even aware of what he was saying, or was just trying anything to stop the torture. Something inside of him had just...broken.   
  
_No, Cecil, I'm sorry. I should be the one feeling this._  
  
With an air of contempt, he rolled Cecil onto his back. Cecil immediately tried to look away, fearfully trying not to meet Carlos' gaze, tears still shining in his beautiful eyes. Carlos forcibly turned his head, staring down into Cecil's eyes. And he felt himself smile.   
  
Then he leaned in and kissed Cecil, rough and hard. What had come to be something sweet and special between them, a sign of love, was turned into something ugly and violent. It was just another show of power, a sign of dominance over the helpless, beaten man. Cecil whimpered against him, trying to turn his head away. The thing torturing him used Carlos' hands to hold him still. Somehow, Cecil found some reserve of strength to struggle and squirm beneath Carlos, to try to escape this torment, at least. Carlos rewarded his efforts by slapping him, and pinning him down with one hand. Cecil was so exhausted and hurt by now that he could.   
  
_No._ He could feel, now, that it was about to end. He knew what the next fall of the knife would mean. _No._ He saw that Cecil did, too, saw his boyfriend close his eyes and just stop fighting, welcoming the end. _I won't..._ He saw the bloodied knife rise in a hand that didn't even feel like his anymore.  
  
 _NO!_  
  
Carlos grabbed the thing inside him, holding it back with the last of his strength. He didn't care if it ripped him to pieces or wiped him out of existence anymore. Better that than living with the sight of himself murdering Cecil. Emboldened by desperation and his own special sort of surrender, Carlos fought the dark, evil thing, wrenched and beat it back even as it turned on him and _tore._   
  
It was a vicious, bloody battle that Cecil never knew about, and never should have been in the center of. But every time Carlos thought he was about to be overwhelmed again, he saw that Cecil had opened his eyes, and was staring at him with the flickerings of _hope_ there, the idea that he might just survive, and he fought on.   
  
And he won, sending the thing, whatever it was, whatever its purpose, spiraling out of his mind and his body. The sound of the knife clattering to the floor echoed in the sudden silence, as Carlos collapsed to his knees, and them slumped to his side, the world spinning and pitching crazily around him.

The first thing Carlos felt upon waking was to hope that it had all been a nightmare.   
  
Memories trickled back, slowly but insidiously. Clear as day, and yet feeling somehow distant, like they belonged to someone else, like someone else had tortured Cecil.   
  
But he knew. Something else might have been controlling him, but it was his hands that had done that hurt, his voice that had cut into Cecil as cruelly as the knife and maybe even deeper. He hadn't wanted to, he'd begged whatever it was to stop, but he'd been too weak to do anything to save Cecil. He would be the one who would have to carry these memories, and Carlos knew it was the least he deserved.  
  
He was grateful to wake up, and be alone in his own head. He was indescribably relieved to be able to move under his own power again, even if it felt like every muscle had been weighed down with lead. But at the same time, he knew that any just universe wouldn't have allowed him to wake up at all.   
  
Carlos did wake up, however, on the floor of the, _their_ house, where he'd fallen. He felt like every inch of him had been beaten, every muscle trembling and weak, a testament to resistance that hadn't been as feeble as he'd first thought. But the first thing Carlos did, as soon as he remembered, was to push himself shakily up on his hands and knees, and look around for Cecil.   
  
He didn't have to look far. A trail of blood testified well enough to where his boyfriend had tried to drag himself away. And he would have had to drag himself, one handed - the memory of how Cecil's bones had sounded when they'd broken, _shattered_ , made Carlos press a hand to his mouth against rising bile.   
  
"Cecil..." His voice was rasping and weak. He barely sounded like himself, but at least he sounded more like himself than he had, when he'd taunted Cecil mercilessly and dug into him with words like barbs. Carlos swallowed, and tried again. "Cecil!"   
  
Still a little groggy, he didn't think at first what effect the sound of his voice might have on the radio host. But his response was a startled, panicked gasp and then a thump coming from the direction of the hallway, and Carlos realized a second too late.   
  
Hating himself, terrified of what might happen next, Carlos nevertheless went to Cecil. He found him collapsed in a bloody, broken heap, just a few feet from the front door where he'd obviously spent the last while laboriously crawling towards. Cecil, in turn, was staring up at him in undisguised terror, visibly shaking. The sight broke Carlos' heart into a million painfully sharp shards all over again.  
  
But Cecil needed help, damn it. He couldn't just leave him. He wanted Cecil to understand that it hadn't been him, he hadn't meant anything he'd said, hadn't wanted any of this to happen. Most of all, though, he wanted Cecil to get to the hospital, not die of blood loss, get his bones set and his cuts stitched up. And judging by the state of him, he was fast running out of strength to even make it out to the street.   
  
"I-I'm going," Cecil said, in a voice that was hoarse from screaming and sobbing in fear and pain. "I, I know what you really think, and I won't bother you anymore. I would leave Night Vale but, um, S-Station Management would be upset, and..."  
  
"No, Cecil," said Carlos sadly. "You don't know what I really think."

He took a step forward. Cecil flinched, raising a hand in anticipation of a blow, but his back was pressed against the doorway and he had nowhere left to back up to. So even as it hurt Carlos to see Cecil so afraid of him, he made himself cross the distance between them.   
  
"Y-Yes I do," Cecil was saying, stammering and afraid, not looking up at Carlos, afraid to see the hate that had burned in his eyes before. "I was listening, I really was, I promise. And you were right, of course you were, I'm..."  
  
"Beautiful. Brilliantly intelligent. Way too good for me."  
  
Cecil tensed...and, after a moment, darted a quick, panicked, _confused_ gaze up at Carlos. And just a few hours ago, it had been equally incomprehensible to him that Carlos could hate him. "I don't understand," he whispered. "You said..."  
  
"That wasn't me." Carlos shook his head, tears stinging at his eyes. "God, Cecil, that wasn't me. Something was controlling me, making me say those things to you, hurt you."  
  
Cecil scoffed, looking away again. "Carlos, please. If you don't want to be with me, that's f-fine. But don't _lie_ to me. Everyone knows possession is a myth. Nothing can actually do that to someone, or control them like that."  
  
Carlos laughed. Well, it was more like a hysterical giggle, that he pressed his bloodied hands to his mouth to try and stifle. " _Here?_ In _this_ town, possession is a myth?!"  
  
"Well, yes. Of course."  
  
"Like mountains?!"  
  
Cecil shrank back at the tone of his voice. "W-Well, if you say it's real, then..."  
  
"No." Carlos shook his head, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The sight of Cecil, meek and broken like that, ready to do or say anything to avoid pain from Carlos, was enough for the tears to finally start falling. "No, don't do that. _Please._ I'm not going to hurt you, I can't expect you to believe me. I can't expect anything of you anymore. I never wanted to do or say any of that to you...but I couldn't stop whatever it was, and...that's my responsibility. I know that."  
  
Carefully, keeping his movements slow and smooth and non-threatening, Carlos knelt down in front of Cecil. He reached for him - Cecil whimpered, shaking his head. "Please, please no..." His tentacles, still bound, were lashing and writhing in agitation - one side caught Carlos a surprisingly hard slap across the face, spattering him with even more blood. He couldn't quite muffle a yelp of pain, and Cecil looked so terrified that Carlos was worried he might faint. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." the injured man stammered desperately.   
  
"It's okay," Carlos said quietly. A slap across the face was the very least he deserved. He almost wished that Cecil were healed just so his love could repay him all that hurt in kind. But that just...wasn't in Cecil's nature. Carlos wondered, wildly, if Cecil had always been capable of escaping, and hadn't, for fear of hurting Carlos.   
  
He started to undo the ropes binding Cecil's wrists. Cecil risked another glance up at him, evidently surprised and on guard. "I love you," Carlos whispered, and now he was the one who couldn't look Cecil in the eyes. "That's never changed, and it never will. You challenge me every day, you've shown me all the beauty and wonder in this town as well as the horror. God, Cecil, I would have died so long ago, if it weren't for you." He'd come to rely on Cecil's radio broadcasts just to know what to expect, how to get through the day.   
  
The ropes fell away. Cecil winced as blood flow was abruptly restored. Carlos gently tried to massage some circulation back. When Cecil whimpered again, there was a different tone to it - something almost longing, something that would have been hope if there were a little less fear. Carlos bowed his head and went to work untying Cecil's legs. "You're so sweet, so thoughtful. God, for the longest time, I thought you had to be making fun of me, with everything you said about me. No one had ever... _noticed_ me as much as you did. No one's ever made me feel that wanted."  
  
Tears were starting to blur his vision. Cursing himself, Carlos dashed them away with the back of his hand. After a few more fumbling seconds, Cecil's legs were free, and Carlos carefully rubbed at his shins and ankles to restore circulation, and also because it was an excuse, any excuse, to touch Cecil gently, to try and make up for all the cruelty and pain.   
  
"And god, you are so beautiful," he whispered, reaching up to free the three tentacles on Cecil's right. "Kissing you, touching you, being with you...it's a joy, and I thank whatever deity might actually exist that I can be." He ran a soft, light touch over one cut up tentacle, and felt it shudder as he did so. A soft, trembling sob escaped Cecil as he stared at Carlos with a conflicted, tormented gaze.  
  
"Carlos..."  
  
"I love you," Carlos said quietly, pouring all the sincerity and love he had into those three words, as he went to undo the last set of ropes. "And I will never forgive myself for being too weak to stop this. You didn't deserve any of this, Cecil. You...I don't deserve to be with you. I'll go, after I get you to the hospital, don't worry about that, but just..."  
  
"No." Cecil shook his head frantically. Carlos looked up at him, the sudden, startled surprise feeling like a slap in the face.   
  
"But, I..."  
  
"No," Cecil said again, more insistently, almost pleading. "Carlos, _no_. Perfect, beautiful Carlos. Caring and reliable Carlos. P-Please don't leave me again."  
  
The love and want shining in Cecil's eyes made Carlos break down in hopeless sobs. He felt filthy, monstrous, and unworthy to even touch Cecil, there and then. "Cecil, god, I'm so sorry..." But when Cecil leaned forward, resting his unbroken hand on the scientist's cheek, Carlos didn't pull away. He kissed Cecil, long and slow and sweet and gentle. It wasn't near enough to what his love deserved, but it was a start, and Carlos gave it willingly and gladly. Cecil shivered against him, sobbed with him, but Carlos knew it to be at least partially relief, now, the understanding that the pain was over and the beginnings of understanding that what had been done to him wasn't his fault.  
  
Carlos didn't pull away entirely, at first. He lingered, his forehead against Cecil's, their breath mingling, one hand stroking the radio host's cheek with exquisite gentleness and care. "I love you," Carlos said. "Whatever happens...don't ever forget that. Okay?"  
  
Cecil nodded against him. "Okay."  
  
Leaving Cecil to go and call the ambulance was almost as hard as approaching him had been. But Carlos did, because it needed to be done. Cecil was important enough to Night Vale that he might actually recover, at the hospital.   
  
He didn't know what the future held. He knew that Cecil would fight to protect him from it, no matter how little he deserved it. Carlos knew that all he could do was be there for Cecil, to help him recover in whatever way he could, and take whatever punishment was owed to him.   
  
He could have died happily after that last kiss. But if he could, he wanted to live, and make sure that every minute of pain and fear was replaced by days and weeks of love and safety. And with all the power of science at his disposal, that even Night Vale seemed to fear, he would make sure that possession remained a myth.


End file.
